


The Love of the King of Camelot

by ichbineinnerdess



Category: Merlin (TV)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-10-24
Updated: 2013-10-24
Packaged: 2017-12-30 09:10:58
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,626
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1016783
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ichbineinnerdess/pseuds/ichbineinnerdess
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>My first attempt at fan fic. Arthur confesses his emotions to Merlin, Merlin responds. Merthur, obviously. Rated 'M' because they end up naked together, but the scene is all about the Merthur romance feels. Enjoy!</p>
            </blockquote>





	The Love of the King of Camelot

"Sire, your bath is ready."  
Merlin began tidying up the table after King Arthur's supper, gathering all the dishes on to a tray and shaking various documents free of crumbs, not paying much attention to Arthur as he disrobed and entered the bath tub with a rather loud splash.  
"I swear you do that on purpose just to annoy me. You know I'm going to have to mop that up afterwards."  
The rebuke was almost automatic, and given in a light-hearted tone, but there was some real annoyance in Merlin's voice, a fact that didn't escape Arthur's attention.  
Arthur watched his manservant as he cleared away his supper, tidied up his desk (which to his annoyance Merlin kept calling his 'table', but Arthur had stopped arguing the issue after Merlin had suggested keeping a record of the time that it was used for eating as opposed to other uses) and began sweeping the floor clean of dirt Arthur had tracked in earlier. Moments like this made him suddenly and intensely uncomfortable, when he realized that he had unintentionally created extra work for Merlin, that Merlin would have to work harder because of some thoughtless act on his part. Moments like this created an internal struggle that was already too familiar to Arthur, a desire to apologize to the young man who, despite Arthur's reluctance to admit it even to himself, was his closest and most trusted friend, and a stern, internal voice (that sounded rather like his father's) reminding him that he was King and that servants were there to serve him.  
Lately, whenever he thought of Merlin, his thoughts seemed to him… inappropriate. He found himself staring at his manservant's lean waist, at his sharp cheekbones, at his shoulders that seemed to be growing broader with every passing year. Merlin's smile would brighten up his day, make him suddenly feel better about everything; before battle, or a tricky diplomatic situation, Merlin's smile radiated a confidence that spread to Arthur, that made him sure all could not be lost. When he thought of all the times Merlin had been willing to sacrifice himself for him, he felt a sudden heat in his chest that he could not, or would not, explain to himself. Camelot had been through some truly terrible things in the past few years, but when Arthur was being honest with himself he knew that many of his most painful memories were of the times he had disappointed Merlin; the memory of Merlin's expression when Arthur ignored his advice or his pleas, when Arthur condemned someone against his own conscience, when Arthur commanded "Enough, Merlin!" in that royal voice of authority that always reminded Merlin of his place, was like an iron fist crushing his heart. He had more than once reflected that he might actually prefer being flogged to having to go through another week of Merlin-disapproval, as he thought of it, when Merlin would not joke with him or smile at him, when Merlin would just say "Yes, Sire" and "No, Sire" in a tone of voice that somehow implied Arthur was a cruel slave-driver, when reproving silence replaced the cheery non-stop flow of Merlin's usual banter.  
Arthur was afraid of admitting to himself what he really felt for his manservant. Feelings that surpassed anything he had ever felt for Guinevere. He missed Gwen and regretted that he could not recall her from exile (such a public forgiveness was unthinkable after her betrayal of him), but although he had loved her and had been truly wounded by her liaison with another knight, he had come to realize that his feelings for her had been mostly friendship, admiration and respect – not the kind of love he knew a man should have for his wife. Lust – he had not felt lust, he had not felt that heat in his loins and stirring in his stomach that he felt when thinking of…  
"Merlin, where is the ointment that Gaius gave me for my shoulder? He instructed me to use it after a hot bath."  
"Ummm," Merlin had put the broom away and was standing in the middle of the room with one hand on his hip and the other scratching the back of his head, his brow furrowed with thought as he surveyed the room. "I'll remember where I put it in just a second. I think… no, actually maybe…"  
After a few unsuccessful attempts to locate the ointment in the most reasonable places, the elusive bottle was found. "Here it is, Arthur!" Merlin beamed at Arthur as if he had just won some kind of victory and had not, in fact, placed the ointment on the floor near Arthur's boots earlier for whatever reason.  
"Really, you are the most useless servant." Arthur held out his hand for the ointment.  
"There's no way you can reach behind your shoulder bone where it's most bruised, here let me." Merlin got down on his knees besides the tub, and began drying Arthur's back with a towel. "And don't get it wet again after, or it'll be pointless." he added.  
Arthur leaned forward and let Merlin dry his back, and then closed his eyes as Merlin rubbed the ointment in. "The heat is good for the muscle," Merlin explained as he continued to massage the bruised area. "You know what's also good for the muscle? Not letting Percival beat you down with a very heavy shield, and not straining your back trying to lift that great oaf from the ground."  
Arthur turned his head to Merlin, who was smiling at him with that roguish spark in his eyes, and smiled despite himself. Merlin pushed the cork back into the small bottle and began to get up from his kneeling position. Suddenly, out of nowhere, Arthur's hand betrayed his better judgment and moved towards Merlin's hand gripping the side of the tub, grabbing Merlin's wrist. He stared at his hand, shocked at what had just happened,  
"Arthur? Are you alright? Is there something you need?" Merlin was surveying him with a concerned countenance.  
Arthur didn't take his eyes off his own hand around Merlin's slender wrist and despite the warmth he could feel coloring his face, he began slowly, gently stroking with his thumb. He didn't try to speak, his throat felt suddenly dry and constricted. It felt as though his whole world now consisted solely of that patch of skin touching Merlin.  
Merlin slowly sank back down to his knees, but he didn't move further or, uncharacteristically, say anything.  
After a few moments, Arthur dared a look at Merlin's face. Merlin seemed to be almost impossibly still, somehow more so than an inanimate object, and Arthur could not see into his downcast eyes. Merlin's beautifully long eyelashes seemed to be resting against his high cheekbones. An awful sensation came over Arthur as he observed his manservant's clenched jaw, a feeling a thousand times worse than those times he realized that his thoughtlessness had resulted in more hard work for Merlin.  
He found his voice. "Merlin," he said in a steady voice, "I know that I am your King. But I think you know me well enough to know that there are things I would never command anyone to do. Things that I would not expect anyone to do – would not want anyone to do –unless they truly wanted to do them. Do you understand? It is vitally important to me that you understand this."  
Arthur hated how official and commanding his voice sounded to his own ears. When had he begun speaking like this? Why was he speaking like this now, to Merlin, at this moment when all he wanted to do was press against him, to hold him? Words came so easily to some others; he wanted so badly to be able to express his feelings now in a way that made it clear to Merlin how much he respected him as a friend and would never do anything to harm him, that made it clear how much… how much he felt for him. Instead, he was sitting in a lukewarm tub, suddenly uncomfortably aware of his own nakedness and the awful position he had just put his manservant, and best friend, in.  
"I understand, Sire."  
There it was again. That word, Sire. Arthur let go of Merlin's wrist and let his own hand drop numbly to his side. He couldn't bring himself to look at Merlin.  
The silence seemed to last forever.  
"Sorry, poor choice of words. Arthur."  
Arthur glanced over at Merlin in surprise. Merlin was gazing at him intently and he looked as if… he looked as if he was sorry that he had hurt Arthur's feelings. Sorry that he had hurt his feelings. Arthur gave a wry, half-smile and shook his head to himself. Merlin knew him so well. Knew exactly what word had wounded him just now, and was sorry because, for once, he hadn't meant to do it. What had he meant, though? Merlin's hand hadn't left the edge of the tub. Arthur stared at his manservant.  
"Well?" he finally demanded. His tone was rough, he knew, but he also knew that Merlin could see the softness in his eyes, could hear the fear in his voice.  
Merlin laughed suddenly, a short laugh followed by a deep intake of breath. He looked at Arthur with an unusually shy smile, a look of positive joy in his eyes, and blushed. He actually blushed. "I'm sorry, Arthur. I was a bit shocked. I feel a bit… a bit dizzy, actually. I didn't – I mean, I had no idea – I thought it was just me. I tried not to think about you in that way… and now, all of a sudden…"  
Suddenly, Arthur's hand was on Merlin's wrist once again. Merlin could see the relief in his eyes give way to other, stronger emotions. Arthur leaned over, his other hand grasped Merlin's neck and he began kissing it. Merlin felt the warm, rough kisses travel from the hollow of his neck up towards his jawbone, and when their lips finally met, a small moan of pleasure escaped his. When Arthur rose from the tub, Merlin cocked an eyebrow at him flirtatiously.  
"Towel."  
"As you command, my King." Merlin rose and handed over the towel very slowly, grinning.  
"Don't even joke about that. I mean it. When… when we're like this, just call me Arthur. Please."  
"Please?" Merlin rolled his eyes. "Now I know I'm dreaming."  
"Why am I the only one undressed?" Arthur suddenly demanded, uncomfortable again.  
"Because it's obviously my dream, you prat." Merlin sat down on the bed. "Although, in my dreams, you're usually much more romantic."  
"… usually?"  
"You compliment me a lot, and all that." Merlin added, musingly. "You also thank me a lot for all those times I've saved your life."  
"Saved my life?"  
"Mmm, yes. Why are you still hiding behind that towel?"  
Arthur couldn't believe his manservant's confidence. "Merlin… Merlin, I haven't ever – I mean, not with a man…" He felt his face flush again as he looked at Merlin's cheekbones, his neckerchief, his shoulders – anywhere but his eyes, with their suddenly disturbingly confident gaze.  
Merlin was silent for a moment, and then came to stand beside Arthur. He looked him in the eyes, held his gaze while he relieved him of the towel. He nodded, "It's alright, Arthur."  
Their eyes remained locked on to each other as Merlin slowly removed his neckerchief, his belt, and pulled his shirt up over his head.  
Arthur put his hand on Merlin's waist. "I don't ever think I've seen you without your shirt."  
"Fancy what you see?"  
Arthur kissed him again in answer. He couldn't believe how good it felt to have Merlin's soft lips against his, warm and yielding. He pressed against him, and felt both of them harden. He felt Merlin smile into his kisses.  
"Merlin. Lock the door."  
"Absolutely, Sire." Merlin grinned as he kicked off his boots and dropped his trousers before going to lock the door. "You know, I really should have done that before you undressed for your bath…" he turned around and noticed Arthur's changed expression. "Arthur?"  
"What is that mark on your back?" Arthur's voice was shocked and angry.  
"Oh," Merlin frowned, "I'd forgotten. Please don't let's talk about it now, Arthur, it really doesn't matter."  
"Is that a whip mark?"  
Merlin sighed as he climbed onto the bed and propped himself up on his elbow. "I was mucking out the stables. Some noble prat came riding through and I didn't get out of his way fast enough for his liking. Don't worry about it. He's left Camelot now, it was just the one lash and Gaius patched me up right quick."  
"Just one lash." Arthur repeated, and shook his head. "You're not going to tell me who he is, are you?"  
"Probably not. You'd be all dollop-heady about it, and do something stupid."  
"A few weeks ago," Arthur said, suddenly remembering, "you kept getting down on your knees with a straight back instead of bending over to light the fire, to pick things up. You said you pulled a neck muscle. You lied to me!"  
He glared at Merlin, who was looking unabashedly amused, "Are you telling me off for getting whipped?"  
"No. No! Of course not." Arthur sat down on the bed. "Your life… it must be so different from mine."  
Merlin sat up, next to Arthur. "Well, you are the King. I imagine everyone's life is pretty different from yours." He smiled at him, "You're a very good King, though. In my opinion, anyway. I mean, there's always room for improvement…"  
Arthur smiled back at him, and shook his head. "What else have you been keeping from me? Have you ever… I mean, I guess you have… when were you with – someone?"  
Merlin rubbed his hand across his chin and stared at Arthur thoughtfully, as if deciding whether or not to tell him. "Do you remember Will?" he finally said, not meeting Arthur's eyes at that precise moment. "My childhood friend from Ealdor?"  
"The sorcerer?" Arthur asked after a pause, and Merlin flinched visibly.  
"Yes, the sorcerer. My friend. The one that died saving your life."  
Arthur put his hand on Merlin's shoulder, "I didn't mean it that way, Merlin. I was just – surprised. Intimidated."  
"Intimidated?" Merlin was staring at him in disbelief, his rising anger forgotten.  
"Well… yes. How does one compete with a sorcerer?" Arthur was staring at his palms, and then looked up to find Merlin grinning at him.  
"I hardly think it's a competition, Arthur. It's been years. You owe him your life, so you owe it to him not to have any unkind thoughts – "  
"I can't be jealous?" Arthur interrupted. "Of someone who's been with you?"  
"Well, you'd be with me," Merlin retorted, "if you stopped talking so much. I mean, isn't that supposed to be my thing, really? The talking?"  
"So what else don't I know about you? Do you have any other secrets?" Arthur demanded.  
Merlin moved closer to Arthur on the bed now, tilted his head to the side and smiled. "Yes, I have other secrets, Arthur Pendragon. And I will tell them to you. But I have a rule. No more than one secret per night. So that's all for tonight, unless there's something else you'll be needing?"  
Arthur looked at his manservant, naked and now hard again, as Merlin leaned back on his elbows.  
"Kiss me," Merlin grinned at him. "Sire?"  
"Oh," Arthur smiled back as he felt a warmth spreading all over his body, as he leaned in closer to his manservant, to his best friend, to his lover, "I'll do better than that, Merlin. Much better than that..."


End file.
